Perfection
by Lilac Papillon
Summary: Parmon Sean hears the ups and downs of this thing called perfection as Moordryd Paynn admires his latest handcrafted gear. One shot.


**Perfection **

**A/N:** Partly inspired when I was watching "House(,MD)". (Very good show. Either that or it's just House and Wilson that are the most complex. Don't watch if you can't stand blood or internal body scenes.) Also, I was telling one of my friends about DB's latest episode in Canada, "When Opposites Attract". Being the yaoi fangirl that she is, she immediately went ahead on shipping Parm and Moordryd together.

Therefore that's your first warning. For all those people who like having "CAUTION - VERY HOT" labelled on their steaming coffee mug in the morning, I reread it, and it sounds kind of slashy. Ehh, it's subtext anyway. Not like it's gonna kill you.

- - -

_It was perfect._

There was no other way to explain it. The exterior structure, sleek and shaped skillfully to every edge, point, and detail, and the functions, mechanics and interior wiring were flawless. A gloved hand ran its fingers delicately through the handcrafted level seven blue turning gear. So much drakkals had been spent on this, so much time had been consumed working on it...and yet, it was worth it, every moment of it as yet another proud grin spread on the face of Parmon Sean's face.

He had been at the Tech-Academy that his mother taught at, and one of her colleagues was so intrigued with the gear that he gave it a test run, with very positive response. Of course, it was just a trial run, so it wasn't all too big a deal. Still, Parm had run countless scans and investigations on his gear, with reports of perfection.

Yes, indeed, his gear was perfect. He was so absorbed in his achievement that he was oblivious to the Psi-class dragon and its human that he and Cyrano passed.

Cyrano, however, was very well paying attention to his surroundings.

Parm glanced at his dragon's face as the Bull-class dragon growled. His head was tilted to the left, indicating he was looking that way. The genius was about to look in the same direction when his gear was promptly snatched out of his hands. With a cry of shock, his head snapped up, and he found himself looking at Decepshun, baring her teeth back at Cyrano. Next to her was none other than Moordryd Paynn, staring at Parmon's gear.

Grey eyes shifted up from the device. "Your reactions to stimuli are somewhat impressive, except for your cowardice. I've had enough of that, but I really wish that Cain's reflexes were that good. What brings you here in the deep, dark, scary Down City, stable brat?" he sneered. He lifted his foot to step forward but was rewarded by Cyrano snapping his jaws at the white-haired leader of the Dragon Eyes. Decepshun hissed and lifted up her claw as Cyrano prepared to charge into her.

"No, Cyrano, steady!" Parm commanded, casting a firm glance at his dragon. Of course, the look in his eyes screamed, "Get me the Magna Draconis outta here if he tries anything suspicious".

"Now I'm even more impressed!" Moordryd remarked, feigning shock. "You have authority! I thought geeks just respected authority. I didn't know they _had_ it."

"Hello, Moordryd," Parm simply greeted. While he was acting calm, paranoia mingled with fear as countless thoughts coursed through the Penn Racing technician's brain, causing his knees to knock against each other.

Moordryd scoffed and shook his head, and shoved the gear back in Parm's hands. "Whatever, _egghead,"_ he muttered. "Don't try giving me the impression that you've got guts. A certain friend of mine tried that already."

"Cain, right?" Parm questioned, relieved that he didn't need to try anything risky just to retrieve his gear from Paynn.

"Who else?" Moordryd drawled. His eyes shifted back to the gear. "Say...just where did you get something that expensive? I thought you and your little gang were poor."

Parm's chest swelled with pride, and a boastful smirk crossed his face. "I made it," he replied. He watched with glee as he saw the eyes widen and the lips part. "I'm glad you like it that much, Moordryd. After all, Word Paynn designs the most top-of-the-notch gear here in Dragon City, and I'm pretty sure you know a thing or two about exterior and interior machinery, structure, and balance..."

The white-haired teenager simply focused on the gear as Parmon started babbling on with his highly advanced scientific vocabulary. "Right, right, I see," Moordryd simply muttered. "Now, gimme the gear."

"What?" Parm gasped, his face falling. He hid it behind his back. "But...you gave it back."

"And now I want to see it again, so hand it over, egghead."

Parm's hand still did not move from its place.

"And if you ask me to say 'please' one more time, I'll kill you," he added.

Cyrano snarled. "What?" Moordryd snapped back at him. "Can't a guy make a joke without having everybody harass him?"

"You'll steal it," Parm accused, lifting up his chin and narrowing his eyes. "I know you will."

"What made you think of such a thing?" Moordryd said in mock surprise, his eyes innocent and naive. "Why would I want to steal your scale-scraping gear?"

"Well, obviously!" the redhead scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh, sure, just because you've kidnapped Kitt, tried to steal our dragons, then tried to steal our gear, then kidnapped Lance, then tried to steal our dragons _again - "_

"By Drakkus, do you have any idea what sarcasm is, egghead?" Moordryd gasped, slapping a hand to his forehead. "The problem with dorks and their big brains is that they have no common sense."

"That is completely stereotypical of those with a higher intelligence quotient!" Parmon argued, forgetting just whom he was arguing with. A crafty smile spread on his lips. "Well, I guess it's true. It proves something must be wrong with your brain too."

Cyrano gave a small smile as Moordryd glared daggers at him. He then watched Decepshun carefully, Decepshun doing the same. None of them were going to let their humans get hurt in any way. "Well, my supposed stupidity actually helps me not wet my pants every time I have to fight back," he retorted coldly. He extended his hand. "I promise I won't steal it. Now...if I may?"

Parm was hesitant at first. Seeing as Moordryd's options of harm were completely out of the question with the security of Cyrano, he reluctantly pulled his arm away from his back, and held the gear in front of Moordryd. Instead of rudely taking it out of his hands like last time, he lifted it up and held it up in front of him, as though he was admiring a piece of artwork.

Parmon took a deep breath in. "Well?" he asked.

"Well...well, what?" Moordryd questioned back, eyes still glued on the gear.

"How is it?"

Moordryd continued staring at it, look. "Huh, well, you missed...I mean...there's a tiny little detail that you..." he started, but stopped. He growled and cursed under his breath, knowing that the bug who was too smart for his own good was still staring at him in bliss over rendering him speechless. "Egghead, I'll be subtle."

"Yes?"

"This is really drac work," he exclaimed, sounding as though he had eaten something rotten. He turned the gear around in his hands. "Very drac indeed."

Parm nodded, folding his arms and smiling triumphantly. It was a few minutes later that he suddenly opened his eyes halfway and murmured, "I'm not getting it back, am I?"

"Nope."

"Y-y-you..." Parm stuttered, lifting up his finger. He suddenly clenched his fists. "You! I cannot believe you, Paynn! You just promised that you wouldn't take it away from me!"

"And you trusted me. Wow, egghead, now you make me wonder if fifty percent of your brain is indeed stupidity," Moordryd deadpanned, looking up from the gear. "And no, etiquette and manners aren't going to get it back."

"Oh, do be quiet!" Parmon barked. "I want that gear back! I'm not letting you get away with my gear in your lying grip! Besides, it's for the benefit of my team, not you."

"Big deal! You and your friends already have blue turning gear," Moordryd pointed out.

"But...I spent so much...time on it..." Parm whined, his courage diminishing slowly as his shoulders slumped.

Moordryd grinned. "Which is why I'm jacking it, egghead," the manipulative hothead said. "Take it as a compliment."

"I was going to let Artha use that for his later Elite Academy races," Parm continued pouting. Cyrano glared at Moordryd, wondering how he'll get past Decepshun and maul Moordryd while not getting mauled by her.

"I heard 'later' but I didn't hear 'tougher'. Why, is the stable brat so irresponsible, that even you're getting greedy for your own stuff?" Moordryd taunted.

It was true. Parmon knew that sometimes, Artha could be a very incompetent person. He refused to agree with that, though.

"Probably explains why your father always wonders why he still gives you errands and specialized equipment if you can't handle it."

Parm shrieked and ducked as a fist came flying where his head was. Cyrano roared, only for Decepshun to smack him with her tail. Instead of a brawl, though, they continued watching as Moordryd gritted his teeth and let his fist unclench. He looked back at the blue gear still in his hands.

Parm continued watching. As much as they both detested one's guts, this sudden grudging respect of each other was indeed surprising. Moordryd was more civil (than his usual so-called courtesy) to him, something that not even he showed Cain. Plus, he wasn't as disrespectful as the others when it came to Parm's intelligence. Now, here was Moordryd, who was going to steal his gear, the gear that he worked on so hard just to make, which Moordryd could plainly see as provided the reason that he wanted the gear in the first place.

A burst of blue suddenly flashed in Parm's eyes, and he threw himself to the ground with a high-pitched scream, his arms wrapped around the back of his head. He heard startled dragon grunts and the clatter of draconium, then Moordryd saying, "I don't want it anymore."

Parm looked up at the figure looking absentmindedly at his fingernails. "What is your problem? Just what in Abandonn is your problem!" Parm ranted, standing up and pacing around with his hands in the air. "First, you rudely take away my gear without permission, then you give it back, and then you demand it back, then even go so far as to give very positive comments and feedback on it, only for you to throw it back at me and simply say 'I don't want it', like a spoiled little rich child! Oh, wait a minute, you are!"

"For your information, my father never let me use any of his money when I was a little spoiled child," Moordryd drawled threateningly. He then hopped onto Decepshun and grabbed his helmet.

"That isn't the point, Moordryd!" Parm protested, storming up to the Psi-class dragon and looking up at him. "Why don't you want my gear anymore, even though you were fascinated in it so much!"

Moordryd placed his helmet on and yawned. He then looked back down at Parmon with a perfunctory expression. "Wasn't it obvious, stable brat?" he said. "One part of the turning gear is lopsided."

Parm was left speechless. Moordryd wagged his finger at him, giving a "tsk tsk". "Really, now, you should know that lopsided turning gear is very, very, _very_ bad," he chided, shaking his head in pity.

It was Parm's turn to glare at him. "Plus, now it has a dent in it," Moordryd added as Decepshun started walking away. "Looks like it wasn't so perfect after all."

As he watched the figure growing smaller, Parm walked over to his...not-so-perfect achievement, and picked it up. Indeed, one of the turning parts was a bit lopsided, and now that he thought about it, the colleague at the Tech-Academy was on a simple track with four easy corners, with no sharp, abrupt, or U-designed turns. He also noticed the small dent, which could be easily fixed.

_Or you could just give it to your friend and let him crash and burn,_ he heard Moordryd's voice saying. _Definitely works for me._

- - -

Feedback? Please.


End file.
